Grinch
by SwordStitcher
Summary: It was too cold to snow, Santa was dead and now the thirteenth most wanted man in America was on their doorstep leaving presents. Somewhere between it all, Bullock might just learn a lesson about the holidays. Or maybe not. They've got themselves a ho-ho-homicide case.
1. Santa

_Santa_

An overdone song about letting something go was playing in the background radio of the precinct. He'd heard that song fifteen times this week. Three of those times were on the radio as he drove into work this morning.

Someone had seen fit to decorate the duty room. Dusty tinsel and old cut-out's of Santa and his reindeer - complete with yellowing tape to patch the torn, frayed edges - littered the walls. The Drunk Tank's patron was wearing a Santa hat that was about two minutes away from becoming a receptacle for puke.

It had only just become December, temperatures had plummeted to below freezing. It was too cold to snow, too cold to do much more than shiver and already, Detective Harvey Bullock wanted to shoot himself, or maybe just the radio if they played that damn song one more time.

Ah, the holidays.

'I hate Christmas,' Bullock groaned as Gordon flipped open several files that lay across his desk.

'Yeah well, A group of Carolers got mugged last night. Wallets, watches, phones - even the donation bucket. A couple of homeless people ended up in accident and emergency last night over a scuffle involving blankets and squat spots, they're all claiming assault-'

'Ho ho ho.' Bullock brooded. Maybe the idiots who stuck their heads in ovens had a point. There did seem to be a little something bleak about Gotham in the holidays.

'Come on Bullock, it's Christmas!'

'Yeah? Let me give you some Yuletide cheer, shall I?' Bullock grunted. 'Shoplifting rises, muggings, assaults, murders - they don't disappear like most people think, they get _worse_. People freeze to death in their own homes because they can't afford to eat and keep warm at the same time, people get _desperate_ at this time of the frigging year - don't you ever tell me to cheer up because it's fucking Christmas.' He slumped back down into his chair as Gordon stared at him. 'What?!"' Bullock growled.

'I never thought you'd be a Grinch at Christmas,' Gordon returned. 'I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised.'

'Hey! This city, it eats you alive man. You think I'd be happy as Larry that our workload just quadrupled?' He demanded and flung a hand across the desk, as if exhibiting the evidence of a heinous crime. Files and paperwork littered the surface, completely covering the chipped wood. Paperwork should carry the death sentence.

'No, I guess you're right.' Gordon sighed.

'What was that?' He cupped his hand to an ear theatrically which caused Gordon to glare at him. But he and his stare weren't particularly frightening to _kittens_. To Bullock, he just looked like an idiot who hadn't understood the question.

'I said you were right, Bullock. Don't be an ass.' Gordon flatly replied. 'Do you think you could manage _a little_ Christmas cheer?' He asked.

'Maybe, if they actually give us Christmas bonuses this year.' He grunted. Now there was a Christmas Miracle. They hadn't paid bonuses for the precinct since Aubrey James came into office. _There_ was a coincidence a mile long.

His brooding was interrupted by a familiar shout he'd become accustomed to honing in on.

'Bullock, you're up on the wheel!' The duty sergeant called from the desk. 'Over on 12th.'

'Give me a break Charlie!' Bullock pleaded across the room. He was not planning on heading out into the driving, icy wind and rain. He'd been planning on faking overdue paperwork to avoid it. Hell, maybe if he bothered looking, he'd find some on the clutter that was his desk.

Below them, the drunk finally palmed his hat off his head and retched.

'You got yourself a ho ho ho-micide detective!' Came the cheery reply, which just put him in an even fouler mood.

'Fuck you!' Bullock roared from his desk as patrol cops tittered and chuckled around him. 'That's not even funny!'

Charlie muttered something that sounded like 'Scrooge.'

'So much for Christmas cheer,' Gordon replied.

'Listen, I don't pry into your life, you stay out of mine.' He picked up and pointed his hat at him as he made his point and then shoved it onto his head. 'Let's get this overwith.'

* * *

><p>They stared at the corpse that was hanging from the tree. Feathers spewed from a rip in his fake belly when the wind caught him and fell to the wet grass below.<p>

The white fur on his cuffs was covered in dirt and heavy with water from the freezing shower last night. Greasy white hair clung to his forehead and face as the wind and rain tousled it. The boots were shiny for their cold wash and sparkled after the rains had polished them. It was still trying to rain on them now, icy little drops of cold that fell from the sky.

'Well, I guess this means I'm not on the naughty list anymore,' Bullock quipped.

Gordon tore his eyes away from the bloated features of the man in the red suit and towards Bullock incredulously. 'You're actually pleased that Santa's dead, aren't you?'

'Why would I be pleased? It means I've got to _investigate_ his death,' Bullock returned.

'That's not the point-' Gordon was almost blinded by the flash of the camera. 'Ed, do you mind?!' He grunted and lifted an arm to shield his face from the harsh light.

'Sorry detective, but isn't this just _fascinating_?' Edward gushed and took the opportunity to take another photograph.

A breeze caught the stiff stiff and blew more feathers out of the jagged cut to his padding. They fell like big fat snowflakes as the city around them froze half to death. It was too cold to snow, but plenty cold to make him wish it would. The rainfall -when it did fall - felt like little bullets. Bullock was never going to be warm again, he was sure of it.

'In mythology, Santa Clause, or Saint Nicholas used to be pictured in green to match the forest. He also has a counterpart named Krampus that steals away naughty children.' Ed snickered, as though he'd found a particularly amusing joke.

'As long as he stays the hell away from Gotham,' Bullock grumbled and tried to hunker down in his jacket a little more.

Edward threw a look to Gordon who mouthed 'Bad mood. Grinch,' and pointed at Bullock behind his back.

'You know, I can see you doing that,' He growled lowly.

Gordon hurried to cover up his actions and coughed. 'Thanks Ed,' He smiled at the tech sheepishly and then turned back to the corpse. 'What kind of nutjob targets Santa?'

'Maybe he didn't like his presents?' Bullock replied shrewdly.

'Yeah,' Gordon grunted hopelessly. 'Maybe.'

They approached the swaying corpse. You had to get really up close and personal to notice the smell. He was ripe, of stale sweat but only a hint of decay. He must have been up for at least the last few days, judging by how sodden the poor guy was. With the snowfall and early nights - not many people bothered visiting the parks which was probably why a man in a bright red and white Santa suit had gone unnoticed for so long.

'He stepped forward but paused as something squished below him.

So help him God, if that was dog shit on his shoe-

It was a stained, muddy mass of synthetic fibers on wire. Maybe once it had been arranged into a flowing beard and mustache, now it stuck up at odd angles.

'Found his beard,' He grunted.

Gordon sniffed around the tree and bushes until he reappeared with the half-moon glasses one would normally associate with Santa. 'Got his glasses. They're plastic...' He muttered and gave the "lenses" a flick.

'Yeah well, he mustn't have been a very good one.' Bullock considered. 'Shitty fake beard and all.'

Something seemed to occur to Gordon and a shrewd look came over his features. 'You hate Christmas because Santa disappointed you, don't you?'

'You caught me, i'm so emotionally wounded.' Bullock scoffed. 'Check his jacket, see if it's got a makers ID.'

Gordon dutifully pulled a pen and peeled open a section of the belted jacket, mindful of the stuffing. On the bottom of the jacket, near the belly, something was pinned to the material.

'What is this?' Gordon plucked free a soiled piece of paper in curiosity, only to have Bullock snatch it from him in sudden froth. It was heavily stained but the marker **_December 24th - Christmas Eve_** could be made out despite the wet runoff.

'Sonovafuckingbitch!' He seethed.

'Bullock?!' Gordon demanded alarmed. Even Ed paused in snapping some beauty shots of the victim to stare at him, but all sense of where he was seemed to fade as he stared down at the innocent flap of paper. It was exactly like the sort designed to sit on a desk and be tore off day after day to mark the monotony. It looked like something the captain had on her desk, but he stared at it as though it were an unexploded bomb. Hell, it could have been.

The last time he'd seen one of these...

'Do you know what this is?!' He waved the flimsy, browned paper in Gordon's face.

'Uh, no.'

'He's back.' Bullock snarled. 'Julian Day's back.'

'Who is Julian Day?' Gordon frowned.

Bullock seemed to gain some composure on himself and shoved the paper at Ed who caught it sheepishly. He then approached his partner and squared up to him. 'You seriously don't know who that is?'

'When you're fighting a war, it's hard to keep up with current events,' Gordon replied diplomatically.

'He's a terrorist who goes by the name of The Calendar Man.'

* * *

><p>AN:

Hello again kiddies! Shhh. I know, I know. I have an overactive imagination with nothing else to spend it on. Personally, I'm blaming my friends for not stopping me. I'm also blaming my absolute love of Harvey Bullock. Now, that being said, I'm not going to be silly and promise an update every week. Lord knows, I've already got one weekly gig going. Another may kill me. But I will promise some semi-regular updates to come.

I should also be ashamed of the "Ho-ho-ho-micide" line. I am not.

Now this started - note that word, it's important - it _started_ as just an excuse to write Bullock being a lovable Scrooge and it morphed into this. So welcome to Grinch! Hold on tight!


	2. My Case!

_My case!_

Bullock raised a hand and pulled off his hat. The other raked through his hair.

God he'd kill for a drink, or maybe a dozen because his mind was suddenly abuzz with memories he had no desire to give space. Things he hadn't thought of in years - things he wished he'd never have to think of again.

'What do you mean he's back?' Gordon frowned. 'He's been here before?'

He suddenly snapped back into the scene he'd left just by seeing that piece of paper. He regretted going off on the kid but that one scrap was like waving a red cloth at a bull. It provoked reaction. 'Come on, there's nothing to really do here,' Bullock grunted at the silent tableau. This place was starting to unnerve him, or maybe it was Santa hanging from the tree - or even the memories that plagued him as he watched Ed drop the thin sheet into an evidence bag and seal it.

'But the Medical Examiner hasn't even confirmed dea-'

'Even I can tell that he'd been dead a while!' Bullock snarled, his hackles well and truly up. Just knowing Julian Day was back in the city made his hand itch for his gun. It's too cold to snow, Santa's dead and now the thirteenth most wanted man in America was on their doorstep, leaving_ presents._

'Uh, do you want this back detective?' Ed held up the date between thumb and forefinger.

'No I don't "want it back"!' Bullock returned, regaining some of the sassiness he'd lost. 'That's your job, genius. Analyze it.'

Without another word - he stalked off. It didn't take Gordon long to follow him and he threw him looks as he struggled to keep pace to the squadcar.

'What was that about?'

'None of your damn business.' He grunted and began his ritualistic pocket-hunt for keys. Gordon seized the extra moments to continue his line of questioning.

'You've blown your top at me and now Ed, come on man, what's going on?' He asked.

_If only he knew,_ Bullock thought. _He wouldn't ask such stupid questions. _If there was one thing a cop hated more than anything else - more than scumbags who preyed on kids, or drug takers beating up old women - it was other cops interrogating them. 'Look, what about you dropping this matter is so hard?'

'The dropping it part.' He answered almost immediately.

Oh for the love of - The kid was using his own sarcasm against him now! He finally found his keys and shoved them into the lock with more malice than required. Without answer - he yanked open the door and slid behind the wheel. 'Are you getting in, or are you just going to stand there and model for Santa?' He demanded acidly, through his open window.

Gordon gave a suffering sigh before he walked around to the passenger side door.

_Ho ho fucking ho. _

* * *

><p>The precinct was as mad as it had ever been. The only difference was that the place was now overlaid with the smell of vomit and the stench of the streets as the patron of the Drunk Tank and the homeless hobos fought for dominance over smell. So far - the homeless hobos were winning.<p>

Captain Essen's office was thankfully free from the smell below. Gordon shifted in the corner and noticed Bullock's nervousness as Essen paced through his frankly dismal case update. The veteran hadn't even allowed him to get his soaking coat off before he'd dragged him up to Essen.

'So?' She demanded before they'd even finished debriefing. 'Is it true? Is he back?'

Word travels fast when it comes to cops. They're worse gossips than the average housewife. It comes with being the official prodnoses of Gotham city. Essen seemed desperate for rumor to be false this time. Bullock sighed, but nodded, confirming her fears. 'He's back.'

'Oh God.' Essen looked as though she were ready to hit the bottle, or hand in her badge. 'You're sure?' She asked in one last-ditch attempt for him to change it.

'We found a daily calendar page pinned to the inside of the victim's jacket. Ed has it now,' Bullock grunted and ran a hand down his beard in thought. 'It's not exactly his M.O. but we think-'

'Get it back, give everything you've got to Major Crimes.' She ordered.

'What? No way!' Bullock suddenly tensed. 'This is my case!'

'Major Crimes have put in a request for case referral.' Sarah Essen glared at her subordinate, holding it even after Bullock strode across the room like a predator and put his hands on either side of the desk to glare back at her.

'I want this case.' He replied deliberately.

'So do MCU.' She returned in a glacial tone. 'Get your hands off my desk.' They stared at each other a minute longer before Bullock removed them with exaggerated care.

'Captain, don't give this to Major Crimes.' He pleaded softly. Gordon blinked. He knew Bullock hated the MCU but He'd never seen him _plead_ for a case. Not plead. He'd bluffed and shouted and cursed - called in favours he owed and several that his _friends_ owed to get a case, or even to dump one but never pleaded.

'Why not? They want it, I don't.' She returned. 'He's classified as a terrorist, it's within their right to request this one.'

'I know how this guy thinks, I can get to him faster than any of those jackasses,' He returned gruffly. 'I just need a _chance_.' And there it was, the wheedle in his voice again. Stronger this time.

'Are you sure you don't have a personal interest in this?' She probed quizzically. Gordon had to wonder the same thing. Harvey Bullock never groveled. Not to the mayor, not to the mob, not even to Carmine Falcone himself. But here he was...Groveling for this case. This case. Why was it so important to him? From the moment he saw that calendar page, he'd become obsessed with being lead investigator on this case.

'I'm nothing but professional!' Bullock growled. 'My results are _one hundred percent_ unbiased.'

Essen quirked an eyebrow in disbelief. 'A hundred percent, eh? Alright, I'll give you this.'

Bullock sagged in relief. 'Thank you capta-'

'But- you've got three strikes.' She continued. 'You lose two more victims, there is no way on this earth that I am keeping this case - it will go to Majors. Are we clear?'

'As crystal, captain. I can get him before then.' Bullock returned confidently.

'Good.' She grunted and turned to the papers that littered her desk. 'God knows what I'm going to tell the mayor. Get out of my office and go do your jobs.'

They found themselves back out in the duty room. The hubbub around them was manic. Snatches of six different conversations going on around them as they stood in uncomfortable silence.

'Why did you want this case so bad?' He asked Bullock. The detective threw him a glare and shoved his hat back on his head.

'What did I tell you about prying into my life?' He grunted and took off towards the outer doors.

'Hey, where're you going?!' Gordon demanded.

'Prying into my life kid! Stop it!'

Jim Gordon watched Harvey Bullock slip out of the doors and into the rain. He stood there for a few seconds, silently fuming that once again, he'd been left out of the loop. Well that wasn't going to stand. He walked out towards the Records room and to find the records on Julian Day/Calendar Man. If Bullock wasn't going to tell him, he'd find out himself.

* * *

><p>She doesn't know it yet, but she's been chosen, Just like the man before her. She has been chosen and she will die.<p>

She wasn't chosen in any traditional sense - not for her beauty, or her charm. Not because she's one of the destitute of this city - because he knows her.

He knows her, in the pit of his soul.

He finds it ironic in a way. The day of the virgin birth - he plans on delivering anything but an innocent. He watches from a window as she drums up business with a flash of leg.

_"Holly and mistletoe, Candles and bells, I know the message that each of you tells." _

He wonders if she's aware of his gaze, or his intent.

Behind him, the work goes on. Always the work. Idly, as though he is only half-knowing, he reaches down and tears a sheet from a small desk calendar.

He lets it flutter to the floor.

He has missed it here. Nothing is quite the same as Gotham. He has given his gifts - his art - to many cities more distinguished, more renown, more interesting. But always - he returns to Gotham. The squalid, squatting city. He feels comfortable here, he feels at home.

She fails to find her mark, none seem interested. She sags dejected and pulls a cigarette from between her breasts. She cups it as she lights it against the freezing wind and rain and for a minute, her features take on a ghoulish tableau.

She must be desperate, to be out on a day like this, wearing so little. Indeed - she shivers under the leather jacket.

He wonders if he should go down and introduce himself? No-one would miss her for a few days. Oh he isn't planning on using her services - something of that nature has never interested him - he wants her to follow. He wants her close for what is to come. She would be instrumental.

Idly, he rips out another page and stares down at it.

_**December 26th - Boxing Day.**_

* * *

><p>The quote in italics is from Leland B. Jacobs - Mrs. Ritters First Grade Critters.<p>

Chapter two! Oh Major Crimes wants this case bad. They haven't even waited for the poor GCPD to screw up and lose another before they jump on it. Bullock doesn't want to give them it for some reason.

And Hellooooo new watchers/favouriters/reviewers! God I hope the second chapter lives up to the first!

Also: This is rated T. Mainly because - Bullock. There will be swear words.


	3. First Class Delivery

_First Class Delivery_

Kristin Kringle ruled a space not much bigger than your average office but the Records Room was lined, ceiling to floor, with filing cabinets handling everything from the Abramovici brothers to Maxie Zeus (Case being established) and beyond. It held the GCPD's cases stretching back years - decades. If Calendar Man had been in the city before - And judging by Bullock's haunted expression, he had - Jim Gordon would find it here.

He approached cautiously, since she had been known to be ruthless with a clipboard and knocked.

'Ms Kringle?'

'Yes?' She popped up from behind a set of filing cabinets. 'Are you here for something?' She frowned. Her glasses flashed. 'Mr. Nygma hasn't sent you has he?'

Ed? Sent him? For what?!

'N-no. I'm here for the Julian Day file.' He placated. 'Ed didn't send me.'

She gave him a sharp look that reminded him of a junior school teacher he used to know. The look always made him want to cringe away. Eventually, she turned down to the clipboard in her hands and scowled. 'Even without Mr Nygma's misguided intentions, Detectives Montoya and Allen requested the file from me earlier.'

Damn. Montoya and Allen were the ones pushing for this case?

'You could always try lock-up.'

'Huh?' He turned to look at her, her lips set in a thin line.

'Evidence Lock-up? They usually keep a brief file on the case with the evidence and some backup photos...Just don't tell Mr Nygma I sent you,' She pleaded

He could slap himself. Of course! They always kept two files, one with the evidence and one recorded in the records room. 'Thank you Ms Kringle,' He smiled. 'I'll be sure not to share that with him.'

The Evidence Lock-up did indeed have a backup file. The place was a cave, freezing cold everywhere but the tiny caged office that held case files, box locations and the all important back-up files. People sometimes got lost in the warehouse of shelving and reams upon reams of cardboard. This place always smelled of paper, card and Sharpie.

Edward spent what little time not doing his job, doing the Morgue's job or trying to get the attentions of Kristin Kringle, here. Helping maintain the system that only he really understood. No-one else would touch it. The price for the file was listening to Edward speaking in anagram. 'It was a _Serum Ego_ case, as I recall.'

'I wouldn't know Ed, I need to see the file first.' He deadpanned and glanced around.

'Before my time of course but I do tend to enjoy reading the older casefiles and finding mistakes. _Almanac Rend_ was a particularly interesting Perp.'

'Ed,' Gordon groaned. 'Could you hurry up?' It was - if possible - even colder in here than it was outside and Edward seemed completely oblivious to it.

'Of course, detective. You're a busy man. Apologies. Here!' He handed him the case with a smile. 'Did you try the Records Room first? Did Ms Kringle send you over?' He asked hopefully.

Gordon paused. 'Thank you for the file, Ed.'

'Detective? Detective!'

* * *

><p>It wasn't encouraging - the thing was basically less than a dozen sheets of paper and a sealed envelope of photographs. It was easy enough to carry over to his desk since his partner had disappeared without a word to do something probably illegal that he didn't want Gordon to see.<p>

He threw the file down on his desk and pulled the chair out to sit when the sounds of obnoxious squeaking could be heard from down below. Several people were shouting an whining at the incessantly grating noise.

He glanced over the balcony nosily to see a courier struggling to wheel a huge crate into the middle of the precinct floor.

'Got a delivery for Gordon and Bullock?' He shouted.

'Up here!' Gordon called, utterly confused. Was this from Falcone or Maroni? Cobblepot?

'Well maybe you could come down here and sign for it Mr policeman?' The courier asked irritably. 'I got things to do and I want this thing outta my hair.'

Gordon skipped down the stairs and took the irritated courier's clipboard, but didn't sign. 'I didn't order anything,' He grunted as he inspected the paperwork. The only thing that indicated what lay in the box was a huge red rubber stamped _**FRAGILE** _across the letters.

'Look man, can you just sign?'

'What's in the box?' He questioned suspiciously.

'The hell am I meant to know man? The company frown on that kind of snoopin'. Plausible deniability and all that. If there's a body in there, I know nothing.' He chucked.

'Nothing,' Gordon deadpanned and the laughter died in the silence.

Perhaps Bullock had sent it, off on whatever dubious errand he'd felt disinclined to share.

'Alright,' Gordon sighed and signed with a hurried flourish. He could have argued - but that would mean obtaining a warrant to the company to confiscate the unknown box that may or may not contain something gruesome. Signing the declaration gave him ownership - for good or bad and allowed him to crack open the crate immediately.

'Cheers!' The courier accepted the clipboard and pen enthusiastically. 'Glad to have that thing off my truck.'

He left, all but skipping.

'What's in the box, Gordon?' Alvarez frowned as Essen appeared from her office to find out why none of her employees were working.

'I have no idea.' He frowned.

'Here,' One of the curious officers handed him a crowbar that had an evidence tag dangling from it and suspicious rust stains. 'Crack that thing open!'

He sank the sharp point into the wood which splintered with a satisfying noise. The top had been nailed down very well, it took him a good three or four tries even with the full brunt of his weight on the crowbar but eventually - the wood succumbed and the nails loosened their grip. The lid popped free.

He shoved the board off the crate and peered down as a crowd formed around him.

'Jesus fucking Christ!' Someone murmured as the crowbar hit the tile and bounced.

* * *

><p>AN: You can probably all guess what's in there and it wasn't Alvarez's Amazon delivery.

Slightly shorter - alright a LOT shorter than the last two but the next chapter will be full length. Scout's honour.

Did I mention this was T for a reason? It is. Potty mouths.

The anagrams Edward speaks are in order: _Gruesome _And _Calendar Man._


	4. Giftwrapped

_Gift-Wrapped_

'Come on Fish, you remember Calendar Man, don't you?'

'Harvey, I remember a lot of men.' She teased coquettishly.

'I bet you do,' He replied with a smirk. 'But Julian Day...Now he's not your average sort of guy.'

'Julian Day.' She sat back and let her fingers curl in on themselves as she cast her mind back. 'Butch darling, do you remember a Julian Day?'

'Can't say that I do, Fish.' The large man over Bullock's shoulder returned.

Bullock opened his mouth to _remind_ her exactly what Day was - which was scummier than dishwater, no-one would protect something like that, this was business, not war after all - but paused as his phone vibrated and sang in his pocket, indicating yet another call coming through. Goddamn, someone really wanted his frigging attention. For a second, just a second, he thought it may have been their perp, come to gloat but that wasn't Day's style. Not at all.

'You going to get that, Harvey?' Fish asked and glanced at his pocket as it jingled its way through a bugle call. He let the moment pass and the phone roll to voicemail.

'Oh come on. This isn't charades. The guy's a terrorist! Gets off on making people fit wierd-ass holiday themes-'

Fish suddenly looked helpful. 'Ah! Now I remember. Wasn't that ten years ago? My, my Harvey. Why does it have your attention now?'

'We found Santa.' He replied grimly and laid one of Edward's glossy photographs on the table. Showing the slightly bloated features of their mornings Mr Clause.

'Well isn't that a shame,' She glanced down and then up at Bullock with a smile. 'Kids will be disappointed.'

'I want to hear what you hear, alright?'

'Hmmm. Sure thing, Harv. Terrorism is bad for business, after all.' She sat back with the photo and Bullock knew it was a long shot, but like the lady had said, it was bad for business and people like her - people like Falcone were all about business.

His gracious interview was coming to an end and he stood to be escorted out by Butch. It was a good job Falcone had promised no harm to them, otherwise he had the distinct impression Butch would get the nod to put the boot in.

If they did hear anything, he highly doubted it would come from her or Butch directly, probably a third party. Outside in the chilly air, he shivered and dug into a filthy pocket lined with fast food napkins for his phone. What was so damn important they left sixteen messages and-

He held the phone to his ear to listen to a voicemail and stalled.

_'SONOVAFUCKINGBITCH!'_ He began hunting hurriedly for keys as the voicemail prattled on, completely forgotten.

* * *

><p>'Hey man, It's Gordon again. In case you missed the other five voicemails - I need you back at the precinct. We've got another body,' Gordon sighed and looked towards the open crate that Nygma was crawling over with a magnifying glass as he dictated his third message. 'Call me back when you finish doing whatever illegal and Immoral-'<p>

_**SLAM.**_

The precinct doors flew open and Bullock appeared in a flurry of rain and freezing tendrils. He dripped on the tile, spotted Ed and immediately stormed over.

'Where the hell were you?' Gordon ran indignant interference to protect Ed from his wrath.

'Where do you think I was? Mooney's.' He grunted.

'Oh. _Her_.'

'Less of your self-righteous crap, okay? I got us some leads.' Bullock lied easily. It wasn't like he was decieving the kid, eventually Fish would come up with something and Bullock could say _I told you so_.

'What did it cost you?' He asked scathingly.

'Why's it got to cost anything? Fish knows a loony like Calendar Man running around is not good for business.'

'I'm surprised.'

'_I'm surprising._ What've we got?' He asked, nodding to the crate. 'Ed?'

'This one is relatively fresh. Probably some time in the last 48 hours-' Ed muttered as he scoured the outside of the box with a magnifying glass. 'Signs of manual compression of the-'

'Ed, I don't need you sciencing at me either.' Bullock growled. 'Start talking English.'

'_Sciencing?_'

'Shut up.'

Taped to the side of the box was a sealed sleeve containing one thing - A tear off calendar sheet that read Dec. 26th. Underneath that was the tagline: Boxing Day. Bullock pulled the plastic sleeve free with a sigh and examined it, as though it would magically not become linked to their case.

Inside the box, packed with straw like the finest china was the fetal body of a woman. She was dressed like a streetwalker, dyed blonde hair, skintight clothes that were too skimpy for this time of year and heavily made up with cheap products. Her skin was sallow and grey, it could be the fact she was dead - but he suspected that she had been freakishly white to start with - that made her look washed out.

Gently, he rolled an arm and noted the various marks that crisscrossed her veins.

Drug user. Turning tricks.

His mind began to work. She had to have a pimp that was missing her, didn't she? She had to have family - scummy as it was. She could have a record here, been busted after failing to pay her protection fee. All possible points of ID.

'What's with the box?' Gordon asked. 'Why not just giftwrap her?'

'I dunno. Do I look like a psychopath?' He grunted as he worked through the angles.

'I'm not going to answer that.'

Bullock threw him a glare and then turned his attention to the one clue that Calendar Man ever left at his crime scenes.

'Someone look up what the hell Boxing Day is!' Bullock roared to the assembled cops.

'I can answer that for you detective!'

Bullock sighed. 'Without a riddle, Ed?'

'Boxing Day in Britain was a custom for tradesmen to collect "Christmas boxes" of money or presents on the first weekday after Christmas as thanks for good service throughout the year. Since they would have to wait on their masters on Christmas Day, the servants of the wealthy were allowed the next day to visit their families. The employers would give each servant a box to take home containing gifts and bonuses, and maybe sometimes leftover food.'

'That's fucking insulting.'

'Isn't putting a body in a box for Boxing Day a bit...overdone and tacky?' Gordon quirked an eyebrow.

'Everything about Christmas is overdone and tacky,' Bullock replied. 'We've lost two now. We lose a third and it gets kicked to Major Crimes.' He brooded.

'But there was no chance of saving the first victim and he didn't give us a chance to save this one!' Gordon railed.

'Doesn't matter. The Major Crimes bunch want Calendar man as bad as we do.' He sighed heavily. 'Come on, the pathologist just finished with Santa.'

'So soon?'

'I may have given him a few pointers about why he should bump our John Doe up the queue. Starting with the fact he'll lose a few teeth.' Bullock replied matter-of-factly.

'And why has he not put a complaint in about you?' Gordon asked acidly at his partner's treatment of their colleagues.

'Because the department doesn't give a rats ass, as long as we get results.'

'But if the pathologist just finished with the corpse, how are we meant to get the repo-'

'I know someone' He replied easily.

'You know someone?' Gordon frowned. 'Someone you haven't threatened?'

'That may be hard to believe but trust me. This girl, you don't need to threaten.'

'Girl?!'

* * *

><p>AN: Me again! Don't shoot! I couldn't resist! I swear. Yes, it's a sort of cliffhanger but I'm sure anyone who has read Morgue Files will know who they're talking about. Maybe. Hopefully.

Anyway, here's the long awaited fourth chapter! See you after Christmas!


	5. Fun and Games

**Chapter 5 - Fun and games**

'Who exactly is Bernie Lynch?' Gordon frowned as they walked out into the howling wind - but at least it had stopped raining. Stormclouds still hung heavy and oppressive over the city and the wet pavement was just starting to freeze over - it crackled as they walked against the wind to the building just down the street.

'She's our ticket into an early pass. So be nice.' Bullock warned him.

'Nice.' Gordon gave him a sidelong look as though he rather doubted Bullock's ability to be nice. Hey, he could be nice! He could be damn nice, it was just a shame many people weren't nice to him.

They walked into the morgue reception, which was bare with it's chipped paintwork and uncomfortable seats. There were no Christmas decorations here. It was deemed too cheery for their kind of work. Bullock sauntered up to the chipped wooden desk, separated by baroque reinforced glass and smiled at the woman behind the screen. Her face was several shades darker than her neck and hair which was piled up in some sort of messy bleach blonde bun. She was wearing way too much make-up in Bullock's opinion but that was apparently all the rage now. They looked worse than hookers. At least the savvy ones toned it back to only accentuating the _decent_ aspects of their face. The bits the meth hadn't touched yet, anyway.

'Hi Christine.' He smiled.

'Detective Bullock. Whaddaya want?' She huffed.

'Is Bernie working today?' He wheedled.

Christine levelled a look at him. He slid a packet of smokes across the desk without even breaking eye contact.

'Sure she's in.' Christine smiled and tucked away the packet for later as Gordon did a world-class eye roll behind them.

'Can you tell us where we'd find her?' Bullock simpered. 'It's important.'

She clicked her long fake nails on the gashed and overly varnished wood. 'Now there's a thing. Important huh?'

He growled and dug into his pocket. A small packet of something green that once had evidence tape wrapped around it was traded and that went to the same place under the counter as the cigarettes.

'Radiology labs, detective.' She winked. 'You didn't hear it from me.'

'You're a star Christine.' He smiled as she buzzed them through. 'Don't ever change!'

The techies were always oddballs. The trick was to find some weak-willed little scurrier and apply pressure until the desired effect - or until mental breakdown. As squints went, Bernie had lasted some time against his abrasive personality. He attributed that to the fact she was Scottish and his rude, unkempt, brash manner was really the cultural norm. Or so he heard.

Whatever the reason, Bernie was spineless and long lasting and he liked that. Gordon would learn the values of finding someone just like her to pump for early pass information.

Bernie Lynch was a diminutive, frizzy haired woman who was wrapped in a tartan scarf and latex gloves in a room no bigger than a cupboard. She was hunched over the desk, seemingly engrossed in something.

'Bernie!' Bullock yelled, more for entertainment purposes than any perceived deafness.

She startled and nearly upset the tray of bone she had been rearranging before she whipped around to look at them. Her nose was red and resembled a cherry in both shine and colour. The whites of her eyes were as pink as her cheeks, her skin was sallow. It reminded him of the crate body they'd just had the pleasure of owning.

Bernie Lynch looked like death warmed up. Bullock took a hasty step back, Whatever she had, he didn't want it.

'Detective.' She glowered. Her accent was thicker with the bunged up nose. As if she needed the help to make her unintelligible some days.

'Hey Bernie.' He grinned horribly. 'You don't look so good. Flu?'

She sniffled under the scarf. 'Aye.'

'Shame. You see Santa?' He asked idly. He ignored Gordon's look. The man had the distinct impression this was more like a subtle interrogation than an easy, friendly chat. Maybe there was hope for him after all, if he ever learned to play along.

Her eyes drifted to Gordon and then back to Bullock. 'Aye, I did. Who-'

'New kid. Say hi Jim.'

'Hi Jim.' He grunted. Bullock turned to give him a frown but then turned back to his original quarry.

'You did the assist for Santa, didn't you?'

'Oh no...No yer not pulling this crap with me-' She shrank back against the desk.

'We_ really_ need to know, Bern.' He wheedled.

'Ah'm no' ye personal-!'

'Bernie.'

She sagged heavily.

'If ah tell ye, will ye leave me alone?'

'Promise.' Bullock simpered.

'Th' victim wus in bad shape. Santangelo hazarded tha' he wus probably strangled before he wus hauled up tha' tree. Probably tryin' ter hide method of death. Mebbe a few weeks ago? Just before the snow hit. He put up a little bittie fight, not surprising but he'd been washed. Not very well, but someone washed him. Would account for the amount of ice.' She squirmed. ' Ed has whut's left. Is tha' all? Ah've got to get back to these X-Rays-'

'No, that isn't all. There's a lovely lady in a box, waiting for you downstairs Bernie.' Bullock smirked horribly as they turned to leave. 'And she's _dying_ to _meet_ you.'

'Yer a grinch Harvey Bullock! A bampot grinch!' She yelled after him ignobly.

'What's a bampot?' Gordon asked as the door snapped shut behind them.

'Eh, an idiot.' He noticed Gordon's look. 'She throws that one at me a lot.' He admitted with a shrug.

'That does not surprise me.'

* * *

><p>'So our Santa has a record.' Gordon sat heavily at his desk and spread the rather thick file across the middle. Bullock looked up from the full pathologist's report. It was mostly the same as Bernie described. Strangled, soaked, strung up in his own suit again. What little the pathologist had gathered had been sent to Ed and the shrink squad.<p>

'Wait, wait, wait.' Bullock smirked. 'Let me guess. Breaking and entering?'

'Among other things.' Gordon deadpanned with a look of suffering at the breaking and entering jibe. 'He's known locally as Sheppy Sinclair. Address is the local homeless shelter.' He paused to consider something. 'Why would he be in a Santa suit?'

Bullock made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. 'Seriously? It's a classic.'

Gordon's eyebrow rose. 'What's a classic?'

He really shouldn't have been so surprised that Gordon had little to know on street tricks. But seriously, this was a no-brainer. Bullock leaned forward and pointed the pathologists report at him. 'Alright. You're homeless, you're desperate for cash and it's the holidays. What do you do?'

Gordon shrugged. 'Find a job?'

'Not exactly. You find a Santa suit. Doesn't have to be a good one, just good _enough_. Then you get a bucket and stand on a street corner. People don't even look at you, let alone ask what charity you're collecting for - they just dump money into the bucket. There are dozens of Santas on every street corner. Easy buck.' Bullock sat back in his chair heavily and flipped open the report again. 'Poor Bastard. Bet he wished he'd picked a different corner.'

'So if we find out where Sinclair got the suit-' Gordon muttered.

'We find out where Calendar Man's hunting ground is. And it beats sitting around here, waiting for Bernie and the squint-squad to get contestant number two.' He jabbed a thumb toward the crate that had been taped off in their absence.

'Yeah.' Gordon sagged.

But first, you can go and see Ed.' Bullock grunted as he wrestled with a very long winded conclusion.

Gordon paused and then groaned. 'Really, Bullock?'

'Hey, if you want me to throw him out the window, just say.'

Gordon grumbled but picked up his coat. 'You owe me for this.' He warned.

'I owe a lot more to people a lot scarier than you, kid.'

* * *

><p>AN: Well, it's been some time, hasn't it? I do apologise. Now there's a reason I'm updating Grinch and not Morgue Files. You see - It's not back on in the UK yet! Would you honestly believe that Celebrity Big Brother has taken over it's slot? I'm ashamed and appalled. I want Gotham back so I can write more Morgue Files!

Anyway, Hello watchers, commenters, favouriters, pit-stoppers. Have a chapter, see you soon!


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